R&R: Prolouge
by SS1
Summary: Reno and Rude thought they were out of the business for good. NOW. A Conspiracy of epic proportions pulls them back in. Time for a little R&R.


Time for a little R & R Prolouge  
Officer William Berklowitz sat in the driver's seat of his police car eating coffee and doughnuts, like any Tuesday morning. He was waiting for his partner to return, so they could discuss the weather, or politics.  
  
The time was 5:00 PM.  
  
Berklowitz looked out the window of his busted up Ford Windstar. Today was like any other day in the city. Berklowitz noticed a man waving a gun and yelling obscenities. "I have a 547 here", Berklowitz reported over his com link in a scratchy mettalic voice. "Get the fuck over here now", Berklowitz added. He was a heavyset man, with eyes like the cool morning breeze.  
  
That's when Berklowitz made a mistake. He stepped out of his car without backup, and this further provoked the man with the ability to take lives. And today, Berklowitz was at the top of his list.  
  
"SOLDIER", the man yelled turning toward Berklowitz, waving his gun. \  
  
Berklowitz knew that this man was unstable. He failed to take further precautions, and this caused everything to go down hill. Literally.  
  
"OK mister, just put the gun down"  
  
Berklowitz urged the man to put the gun away, but the man didn't listen. Instead, in his rage filled fury, the man discharged his firearm. Berklowitz was blown backwards, down a steep incline, into a deep ravine, filled with sharp rocks. When the other officers arrived, they were unable to find Berklowitz. The man had run away.  
  
The suspect is approximately five foot seven, with a light stubble. If you or anyone you know has information on his whereabouts, please contact us.  
Chaptere 1  
Deeper into the heart of the city, where streets are polluted and criminals run rampant, a tradgedy of a completely different nature was taking place.  
  
Officer Sandy Newman flew out of her beat up Pontiac Sunfire, and was instantly blown backwards by a blast coming from a 10-gauge shotgun sporting a pistol grip and a laser sight. "SHOTS FIRED!!"  
  
Before she even hit the ground, the young officer had her life taken in a heartbeat, in a horrible tragedy commited by a ruthless, rage filled child spawned by our own society. We only have ourselves to blame that we failed to detract our youths from taking the horrible, misguided path of violence and bloodshed in their lives. Even one life, however, was not enough for this ruthless, destructive outcast from society.  
  
Jon Chung, 429, was departing from a yellow, beat up, taxi cab when he heard a loud noise. At first he did not know what to make of it, but then it dawned on him. As Jons mind focused on the noise, he felt a concussion in his upper abdominal section. He immediately knew that he had been shot, and it was only a matter of time before he DIED. Immediately, Jon dialed 911, and the operator told him a police unit was in the area. Jon suddenly lost all hope when he saw the dead police officer, lying in a pool of blood, her blood, near a beat up Pontiac Sunfire. Jon slowly drifted into unconsciousness.  
  
Jon Chung awoke in a white hospital bed with white sheets in a white room, with white equipment and readouts and a white nurse all dressed in white. Two Asian men dressed in the darkest hue of blue Jon had ever seen strode into the room wearing pitch-black sunglasses. In a deep bass voice, one of the men, about 26 with dark red hair, pulled up a badge and said: "Mr. Chang, we're with a secret government organization." Before he could finish, the nurse attending Jon rushed up to him and his partner. The nurse, a barbie look-alike with more leg hanging out of her skirt than Jon believed was possible, said in a wiry voice that matched her look: "I'm sorry, you'll have to register with the front desk and come during visiting hours." The man who had been speaking to Jon, not taking his gaze away from him for an instant, raised one finger and made a motion so slight that Jon almost didn't catch it. This seemed to be a signal of some sort to his partner, for at that moment, the other man, who had a slightly darker skin tone and a shaved head, eased himself out of his position leaning against the wall and took a few quick strides over to the nurse. Before she knew what was happening, the man had gripped her shirt by the collar and lifted her, with one arm, clean off the ground. The nurse, too choked up to scream, let out a pathetic little yelp before being carried out the door by the bald man who paused, turned around, and shut the door. As soon as the door had shut, the man continued. "We're investigating a mysterious string of murders which have all taken place in the past 24 hours. We believe that you may be able to help us." John Changstein looked up. His eyes narrowed.  
  
Rude was a man of short stature with a light stubble. Rude decided it needed to be shaved and walked into the bathroom. He had a feeling that some serious shit was about to go down. In his living room. The apartment exploded at five pm. Rude was in a cab and on his way to the SynTech building at four fifty five. By Five, he was halfway there. On impulse, he stopped the cab and got out to get a hot fudge sundae. He approached the man behind the stand and made his order. "You go now". The mans english was not very good, and rude decided to tip him by giving him a dictionary. Rude nodded and went on his way. It was 5:01. The taxi cab exploded at 5:02. Rude was not in it. He was in the sYnTecH building talking to Edward Cane or Dice as the boys at the office liked to call him. Dice was a small man, but he commanded attention. He had a headset on and was screaming into it while conversing with Rude about a possible raise. "Uh, sir-" "WHAT!!!!" Before he could say anything, Rude heard a muffled explosion coming from ground level. He looked outside and saw that it was the taxi that he had arrived in. Shit. For some reason, he thought of his apartment and dialed his home phone number. He got the operator telling him the line had been disconnected. Double Shit. Dice was staring at Rude in way that only a man with intentions, good intentions, could. "Listen Tiger," he said. "I want you to go and see Mr. Clark in office 401. He'll set you up." Dice paused and turned. "You know where office 401 is, don't you Rude?" "Yes sir." Rude had no idea where office 401 was, but as he looked at Dice and saw the grin, the huge grin on the old mans face, Rude decided he could find it on his own. "Now you take care Mr. Rude. And if them Baker boys give you any trouble, jes' remember, ol' Dice is always waitin' for ya' back home." "Yes sir."  
  
Office 401 was one of the sixty floors that made up the SynTech building. Rude didn't recognize the fixtures on the walls and he noticed there were no other people on the floor. He thought of Dice and the boys in office 34, and Rude knew he'd be damned if he was going to turn back now. The door to the office was one of those shitty wooden ones that Shinra always assigned to level executives. It took five tries before Rude could pry the door open. He was greeted by total blackness and a strange male voice wishing him a happy day. The voice receded into the blackness and was followed by a strange coughing noise. The room was suddenly flooded with light and a man sat in the center in a plush leather chair with a SynTech insignia on the side. "Mr Hawthorne, I think you'd better sit down." "Uh, sir, my name isn't Hawthorne." "Well, then, who the Fuck are you?" "They call me Rude" "I actually thought you were quite polite, but nevertheless, who are you?" Mr Bryce shuffled through some documents sitting on a coffee table next to him. He came to a paper and stopped. He twitched for a moment. "Mr., uh-" "Bryce, Mr. Bryce." He said, without taking his eyes off the paper. "Yes, well, Mr. Bryce, I was sent here to see a Mr. Clarke, and if you don't know where he is, then I think I'll just be on m-" "No, no-I insist, please stay. We're having dinner catered, and I do hope you'll join us.", Bryce said, still keeping his attention focused on the paper. "You and somebody else, Mr. Bryce? Do you mean Mr. Clarke?" Bryce paused for a moment, then looked up from his paper and gave Rude a wide, cock-eyed grin. "All in due time, my man. All in due time."  
  
Mr. Bryce ate loudly, and it was beginning to bother Rude. "So, when will Mr. Clarke arrive", Rude looked up from his meal and smiled. "You're a slow learner", Mr Bryce replied, taking in a large mouthfull of lambchop. Mr. Bryce slowly got up and looked at Rude. He grinned and began to move for the door. Bryce turned and said something that Rude couldn't quite make out and then dissapeared into the hallway. Rude was left alone in the office, so he took the opportunity to examine his surroundings. The room consisted of a single desk, and three chairs, one for mr. Bryce and two for his associates. There was an illuminated wall painting of a ship from the spanish armada being sunk by the English as a backdrop to Mr. Bryce's desk. A small coffee table in the corner housed several model ships from the 1700's. Suddenly, rude noticed a small scrap of paper lying on the table in front of him. All of the other papers had been cleared off of the desk, so he was curious as to what this one said. He picked it up, and read it. There was messy handwriting on the paper, but Rude thought it said: Fourth and thirty second. Rudes eyes narrowed. He recognized the name. That was a street. It was only a couple of blocks away. As Rude left the room, he thought about his fish at the apartment. He hadn't fed them. Things to do.  
  
The warehouse was large and painted in an ugly metallic color that Rude didn't care for. He noticed a door and began walking toward it. As Rude reached for the door handle, a small Asian man in a blue trenchcoat put a hand on his shoulder. "Ahhh, Mr Rude." Rude turned. He didn't recognize the man. "My name is Yosuko Takahashi. I'm here to pick up the delivery." Rude paused and took out the scrap of paper from Mr. Bryce's office. In the lower left hand corner, in messy handwriting, the words desk drawer were scribbled. Rude looked up and gave the paper to Mr. Takahashi. "You know what your problem is? Mr. Rude? You worry too much." He let out an enourmous jolly laugh that echoed down the streets. Before Rude could say anything, Mr. Takahashi pulled out a cell phone and dialed up. He waited for a moment while the connection was made. As he was waiting, he looked back up at Rude and gave him a big smile. Suddenly, he began screaming in frantic Japanese into the phone. Rude didn't know much Japanese, but he could make out the words "Yes, meet, forty-two and tonight." Takahashi turned the phone off and pocketed it. He looked at Rude, grinned and informed him that the delivery had been taken care of. "Mr. Rude. A cup of coffee." Takahashi motioned toward the warehouse.  
  
"In there?" "Mr. Rude, do you think I would lie to you?" Rude wondered if he should have left five minutes ago. He shook his head no. Mr. Takahashi could barely contain himself. He let out a great bellow and began walking into the warehouse. Rude followed.  
  
A table with two chairs was situated in the center of the warehouse. Next to it stood a light and two burly men. One of them sneezed. Rude sat down at the table and saw Mr. Takahashi join him. "Mr. Rude, some coffee, or tea?" Takahashi leaned back and raised his eyebrows. One of the burly men brought over a Mr. Coffee and a cup of tea. Rude looked at the tea and noticed it was turning blue. He decided to go with the coffee. "Ahhh. Mr Rude. I see you have good taste." Mr. Takahashi licked his lips and leaned forward. A door at the opposite end of the room burst open, and Reno Shen walked out at a fairly brisk pace toward the exit. "Reno", said Rude. Reno paused, and looked over at Rude. "So." Renos face twisted into a look of rage. He began shouting. Mr. Takahashi stood up and motioned at one of his men who turned and walked toward Reno. "Mr. Shen. I suggest you calm down or leave. We have done nothing wrong. Now," his eyes narrowed, "Do you want some coffee?" Reno stuck out his hands and motioned for the burly man to sit back down. No need for that. The burly man seemed somewhat confused and decided to stay where he currently was. Reno walked over to the table and stood, looking at Rude. "So. They brought you into this too." He sat down. "Doesn't look like I have much choice, now." "I see you've come to your senses, Mr. Shen. Mr. Rude." Said Takahashi "What exactly the hell is going on here?" asked Rude. "They want us to play good cop, bad cop. They think they can buy us out with money and power." Said Reno. Rude looked over. His eyes narrowed. "Just exactly how much money and power?" Mr. Takahashi interrupted with a loud coughing. He reached his hand into his coat pocket. Rude and Reno froze, and their hands moved towards their guns. The burly men slowly reached inside their jackets. Mr. Takahashi pulled out a check with gun strapped to it.  
  
"Enough games." Takahashi smiled and eased back into his chair. "Mr. Shen." He paused for effect. "Take the gun." Reno looked at the burly men. They both had their hands in their pockets but had not yet pulled anything out. The exit was atleast thirty feet from where Reno sat. Shit. Reno leaned forward and stuck his hand out. Takahashi's grin widened. Rude began to move out of his chair. One of the burly men sneezed. Reno took the gun. Rude heard the loud cocking of a shotgun behind him, and he whirled around and pulled out his S&W 44. The two men each had shotguns on him, and Reno wasn't going to be much help, stuck as he was unmoving in the chair. What a predicament. Double Shit. Rude heard enourmous laughter coming from behind him, and he slowly turned around to see Mr. Takahashi red and clapping his hands. "Please, Mr. Rude, have a seat." Rude looked at Reno. He sat back down. "I see you have come to a decision, Mr. Shen." Takahashi whistled. The burly men walked up until the almost stood on top of Reno. "Unfortunate." Takahashi made a quick motion with his hand and got up. "I will leave you now. Enjoy." Takahashi slowly walked out of the building. The burly men stood and stared at Rude and Reno. They brushed past him as they walked toward the door. They made it outside. It was raining out. "What have we gotten ourselves into."  
  
John Changstein sat in the recovery ward in St. Judes hospital on fourty fifth street. He was reading a magazine when a man with a suitcase walked into his room. Chanstein lowered the magazine and watched as the man took a large firearm out of the suitcase and aimed it at his head. "I take it this means goodbye," said John. Fireworks.  
  
Rude liked the design of St. Judes. He was staring at the marble exterior through the rain. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. A number was written on it. "207." Rude said. John Changstein was in room 207. Rude took the elevator to the second floor and asked a nurse where room 207 was. "Down that hallway", she said. Rude began walking toward Changsteins room. Changstein had lived in the city for a couple of years and Rude had met him through work. John had information. Rude opened the door to Changsteins room. A man walked out of the room holding a briefcase and nodded at Rude. Rude thought nothing of it and walked into the room. John Changstien lay in his bed and on the floor in several different spots. The man. Rude pulled out his cell phone and dialed up for Reno, who was waiting outside, as he ran after the man with the briefcase. "Reno, hes dead." Reno sniffed on the other line. "Alright." He paused. "I'm on it". Outside, Reno pulled out a gun and attempted to conceal it under a newspaper. He waited. A man with a briefcase burst out of the building and began to hail a cab. Reno ran at the man, who upon seeing him, ran into traffic.  
  
Rude got off the elevator and ran outside to where the car was. Reno wasn't there. A street vendor held some t-shirts in Rudes face and began screaming "three for a dollar". Rude shoved the man out of the way.  
  
Reno was beginning to realize he was out of shape as he chased the man into the subway. The man jumped over a turnstyle and ran toward the train. As Reno got to the door, atleast twenty men in coats with briefcases came out of the train. "Shit! Shit!" Reno pulled out his gun and fired several shots into the air. The crowd scattered, revealing the man with the briefcase. It was on the floor, opened, and the man now had a fairly large firearm in his hand, pointed at Reno. The man smiled. Reno's eyes widened. Reno dove to the side. A cop came flying down the stairs with gun raised and was blown into oblivion. A train just happened to have pulled up at that exact moment, and the man hopped on. Reno threw his gun down and screamed. Rude received a call to follow a train heading west on thrity fifth. He got into his car and opened up the dashboard. Inside were two guns. Rude grinned and grabbed the larger one. He slammed the keys into the ignition and gave chase.  
  
Reno was attempting to coax a train conductor to let him drive one of the trains when he received a call on his cell phone. "Reno, I see him." "Don't let him know you're on him. Follow him. See where he goes." Reno heard footsteps, and then the cocking of a gun behind him. "I've got company." He hung up the phone.  
  
Rude knew the west thirty fifth line stopped at thirty fourth street. He stopped the car and watched as the man got out of the train and ran into a warehouse. Rude ran after him, and ducked behind a corner. Suddenly, the large vechicular entrance beside him began to open. A jeep drove out slowly, and he ducked below the driver's line of sight as he pulled out the tracer he had been fingering in his pocket and quickly planted it under the hubcap. He watched as the jeep drove off, and pulled out his cell phone. "Cane here." "Set up a meeting."  
  
Chapter 2  
"Gentlemen, I'm afraid we have ourselves a situation." The voice came from a man in his mid forties with slightly graying hair. He was standing at the head of an oval conference table, with Rude at the other end, and six other men in between. All eight of them were very well dressed. "The string of murders which we have been investigating has continued, and we are as of yet without any leads towards who is behind them." Rude started to say something, but the man cut him off with a quick flick of his wrist. The man's name was Phillip Anderson. He was the head of the secret govornment organization, the Turks. "Since some of you may not be familiar with this case, let me take this time to bring you up to speed." Anderson pulled out a small remote control and clicked a button. Suddenly, the blinds in the room all shut, encompassing the room in absolute darkness. A small device in the center of the table lit up, and a holographic display was projected directly above it. It showed a rotating wireframe head of a man, and his name, Jason Carmine, as well as his physical statistics listed to the right. "This was the first victim. Carmine, Jason. An out-of-work actor living by himself who dropped out of graduate school four years ago. He had enrolled 1 year prior, but no matter how hard we dig, we can't find any information on him before that. It's as if he just didn't exist. He was found in his apartment after a 911 call from a neighbor who heard the gunshot. It apparently came from the barrel of a 10 ga. shotgun, and Carmine took the blast full on in the chest before being blown against the opposite wall." Anderson clicked the remote as he said this, and a computer generated simulation of the ballistics of the shot was displayed in slow motion. The remote clicked. "Our next victim: Jackson, Randall. Door-to-door salesman. Just gotten married. Interesting point: graduated high school exactly five years ago. No information before that. His wife found him blown apart by a 10 ga. shotgun blast after coming home from shopping." He clicked the remote, and a similar ballistics graphic was displayed. The remote clicked. "Third victim: Newman, Sandy. She was a police officer who we presume got in the way of a hit. We think this because we were able to find all the information we needed on her. She called for backup before she died, and that screwed up the killer's plan for his third hit. She, too, was hit by a 10 ga. shotgun." He displayed the ballistics graphic before moving on. "This brings us to our fourth and final victim: Chung, Jon. A writer. He was the intended victim of the third hit. Not coincidentally, he moved here from Japan exactly 5 years ago. Our contacts in Japan have not been able to find a single shred of information on him. By luck, the shotgun blast that hit him was not fatal, and police backup called in by officer Newman arrived just in time to save him." The display shifted to show a blast from a 10 ga. shotgun striking him in his upper abdominal section, and just barely missing his vital organs. The graphic repeated itself as Anderson continued. "He was brought to Jameson memorial hospital. Mr. Rude, you say you and your partner Reno talked to him there?" Rude stood up. "Yes, although he was slightly delirious when we talked to him. He kept mumbling something about how they were going to track him down, how he had to go into hiding. We couldn't obtain anything useful from him in his current state, so we decided to have him transferred to St. Judes, have all his hospital records erased, and talk to him at a later date. However-" "However, when you arrived at his room in St. Judes, you found him scattered all over the floor." The graphic of the shotgun blast changed to show several bullets coming in rapid fire from a weapon of considerably larger magnitude. "Our phorensics team has been able to determine that the whoever held the shotgun in all the other murders in this string had the same height, but the person in this murder was taller." The display shifted to show the graphics from the four shotgun blasts all being fired from the same figure of a man. "Every murder besides this latest one has also been done in the same style. Thus we can conclude that another person has stepped in to finish the job." The display showed the figure of the man with the shotgun being replaced by the figure of a taller man with a bigger weapon. "Mr. Rude, you then say you and your partner pursued the killer?" "Yes. Reno followed him to a subway train, and I drove along the route of the train until he got out at a warehouse on thirty-fourth street. From there, he drove out on a jeep which I placed a tracer on." A stout man walked into the room with some papers folded under his arm. The man looked at Rude and smiled, and then stared at Mr. Anderson. "Benton Ashcroft." The man had a look in his eye that Rude didn't care for. "I'm here to inform everyone that I am taking over the operation." From across the room, Rude heard a slurping noise and then a yelp as Kane took a swig of whiskey and slammed the glass onto the table, shattering it. "Goddamit ladies. Who the fuck authorized this?" Kane slowly made his way toward Ashcroft and stopped a couple of inches away from the mans face. Benton narrowed his eyes. "Sir, I beg your pardon, but this is extremely rude." Ashcroft looked past Kane and at Mr. Anderson. He raised one of the papers in his hand and slowly slid it across the table. Anderson stuck out his hand and grabbed the paper looking at it. "Jesus L. Christ, fuck thiis came straigt from the top." It seemed Anderson had had a little too much to drink. "That's right gentlemen, the president." He gave a smile, ever so slight. "Now, if you'll kindly step down." There were ten seconds of awkward silence. During this time, Rude got a good look at everyone in the room. There was Donald Jacobson, head of accounting sitting next to him. His eyes were nervously darting from one place to another as he twirled his pencil. It slipped and went shooting across the floor. He froze, and didn't move to pick it up. Rude also saw Pacey Regis, a young man who had accepted a job with the Turks two years ago. Regis was asleep in his chair. His glass of water had fallen on the floor and shattered, but nobody noticed. Next to Regis was Donna Livingston, assistant director to the head of staff. Livingston was smiling and looking at Ashcroft, who was staring at everyone in the room. "I suggest you can all grow accustomed to having me as head of this operation. Some people nodded, while Regis had slumped over so far that he was hanging halfway out of his chair. "Dismissed."Ashcroft waved a hand. Rude got up and glared at Ashcroft . Kane approached him and patted him on the back, muttering something about cowboys under his breath. Rude turned and left.  
  
Two hours later, Rude realized he had forgotten his pager in the room. He quickly made his way back to the office. There was nobody on this level, but Rude swore he heard voices. As he came to the door, there was a dull thump against the oak. Rude got out of the way of the door as he heard a louder thump and the door burst open. He heard a final thump as a man fell onto the ground. The open door was blocking rudes view of the man, so all he could see was his hand. It was covered in blood. Fuck, Rude thought as he made his way behind a cubicle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hand being pulled back into the office. He waited for a few minutes, tense, watching to see if anyone would leave. He eventually decided to sneak up and peer into the office. Shit, it was Anderson. Rude stood there for several moments looking into those eyes, the eyes which had represented so much to him, those kind eyes that had always been there for him. Rude heard a thump and whirled around. No, he didn't like this, this wasn't right, he had to get out of there. Rude stumbled out of the door and walked at a brisk pace to the elevators. He noticed a leg fly out from a cubicle a second too late. For a second he considered remembering his martial arts training, no, fuck it and just whip out that gun. His trusty S&W 44 found it's place in his hand, and he fell to the floor firing upwards as the leg flew over him. Rude watched in a state of detachment as the leg continued it's flight over him, unhindered by the bullets that passed behind it. His gaze followed the leg as it landed in a corner. A decoy, Rude realized as he felt the gun kicked out of his hand. He rolled up into a stance just in time to catch the man's leg in a jump kick, and send him spinning to the ground. His other leg flew up and caught the back of Rude's knee, and as Rude landed on the ground he sent his elbow into the other man's gut, hard. An enormous bellow echoed down the hallway accompanied by clapping. "You." "I see you have been practicing with your form, Mr. Rude." Takahashi gestured at the man lying on the floor. "He is one of my best." "Whose." "Oh, that?" Takahashi gave a wide grin, and motioned. "Just one of my associates." Rude drifted into a strange dreamlike state as he watched a burly man move across the room to gather the leg in a plastic bag. At the same time, Takahashi pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him and the other man with whom he had been fighting, but was now sitting side by side with on the floor. A thought occurred to him, that maybe this scene was too strange, it shouldn't have been happening at all and he should leave. He pushed the thought aside. SHittttttttttttttttttt "Ah, Mr. Shen. Sit." "Huh? Reno?" "Yeah. Lesss gi tdis pahte e stahted." Two shotguns. Keep hope alive. "Rude? Mr. Rude?" "Wha?" Rude shook himself out of the daydream. Alright home dogg. Lets roll. The two men left Takahashi in the building.  
  
"GOD-" "Please, sir, shouldn't we-" "DAMMIT!" A fat man slid into the viewscreen. Beads of sweat trickled on his forehead. "Mr. Madson. We need to leave." "alright." Neu! The men were in a building. It was 2:55. Tyson knew he needed to get out. He left, clutching the package. If nothing else, then the package. Johnston Bradford had worked at SyNteh for all of forty seven years. He had never seen Mr. Bryce as angry as he was now. Bryce tumbled toward Bradford. Indeed he did. INDEED  
  
Payonsta Marnimal heard submachinegun fire. He tossed Jhonson the gun before being blown in half. Jhonson caught the gun, happy with Marnimal's sacrifice. One less to take care of afer the heat was over. One less. Indeed. "Jhonson" Terrence Gregorton looked up. Jhonson whirled, pulling out two submachineguns. The arabic guy yelled "Bachlavah" and got blown out the thirty first floor of the building. The tall man lowered the submachiegun. He smiled. The jeep was driving off, but not before he took the African man out. " "Excuse me." He turned. "Right here, right now!" Reno smiled, lowering the cell phone. Rude loosened his tie and raised his fists. "Awright Reno, dis looks like its gonna be a tough fight." The large black man flew towards Rude, who pummeled him repeatedly in the jaw. When it was all over, two blocks of the city lay in waste, and Reno Shen had the feeling the day was only going to get worse. Arnolsson Roy-Jackson looked through the sight of the chaingun. He saw a short man running. "Wynderethome beckons."  
PART TWO "So" "You don't say" He lowered the Vindicator machinegun Gregorianlintahl laughed. ""Sir, do you have the time" Mr. Clarkes eyes narrowed. He fingered the crossbow. "The time is now."He flew out of the car. The building exploded. "well, if that don---" He DIED "That's him." The Peruvian guy with the pink suit." The man puffed his cigarette. "It'll take twenty thousand."  
  
"I can giveyou ten-" "Twenty, or the deal is off."  
  
Bryce narrowed his eyes at Clarke. "Do it. The shockwave was comin" CLOUD looked up. "C'mon, people, we gottaa make it outta this alive." Tifa nodded. Vincent fingered the pistol. When Barttell of Evrentall came to, the world was chaos. He groggily stood up, wavering for a moment and then realizing that the Yultiiiiii were after Himm. He felt the cold steel of the Krakal Sword, passed down to him by the Great Regalhorf of Tuideren, and smiled, knowing it would be, alright. Neu! 


End file.
